


Please, Tell Me Your Name

by TheThirteenthHour



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Memories, Trial of the Sword, a series of short scenes, and I don't just mean Fi's chime, because there are so many little audio references to that game that it makes me cry, references to Skyward Sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirteenthHour/pseuds/TheThirteenthHour
Summary: The Master Sword goes by many names, but there is one name in particular that Link has yet to hear, and he aches to remember it.
Relationships: Fi & Link (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	Please, Tell Me Your Name

The Sword has nearly killed Link more than once, and he realizes he never minds.

He _should_ mind, he knows, in the same way he should mind when a lizalfos nearly shoots an arrow into his neck, or when a lynel runs a spear through his stomach. But death and revival happen too often for him to mind. Surely that much is understandable.

But the Sword is different.

He’s gathered that it goes by many names. The Legendary Sword. The Sword that Seals the Darkness. The Master Sword. The Goddess’ Sword, or something similar—though he can’t remember who has called it that.

He knows it has another name. Tonight, he sits outside the Great Deku Tree and watches the Sword as if it will introduce itself to him. As if the sight of it will draw the name from his clouded memory, if it’s there to begin with.

The Sword, whatever its true name, has nearly killed him more times than he can count, and each time, he feels desperately close to a revelation. Each time, he feels like he is on the cusp of reclaiming something that is part of him, something that is more than a weapon and more than a memory.

Seeing the Sword under the stars, he remembers the wind. It isn’t the same air that passes over him when he paraglides. It’s the sensation of soaring, of true flight through the skies, accompanied by the sound of flutes and harps, a chime he can’t remember, perhaps a melody he’s never known—but the memory is there, somewhere.

The Sword has another name, and he keeps himself awake tonight trying to recall it.

  
  
  


The Great Deku Tree finds his frequent visits to the Korok Forest to be alarming, but never says so. He doesn’t need to. Link can see his concern in the shape of his bark, and he can feel it in the way the koroks welcome him. The little ones are always excited to see him, but they hover around him. They try to direct his attention away from the Sword. They ask him questions in search of increasingly detailed and time-consuming answers, anything to delay his attempts to remove the Sword. When they finally retreat to the roots of the Great Deku Tree, they do so with apologies, their worries visible in the tremor of their leaves.

As he wraps his hands around the hilt of the Sword yet again, he realizes the scurrying koroks make him think of Zelda. She has reached him very few times throughout his journey, but he wonders if she too is about to witness his near-death yet again.

He apologizes under his breath, but he can’t stop trying.

  
  
  


For a moment, as the Sword slips free of stone, he is certain he has passed on to the goddess’ realm. His vision goes white, pale, blue as the skies, and the relief and delight that fill him are indescribable. There’s a greeting, somewhere. A welcome. A sound, but it melts into Zelda’s voice before he can place it—Zelda laying the Sword to rest here one hundred years ago, heeding the Great Deku Tree and keeping a message meant for him that he aches to hear.

It’s a memory that does not belong to him.

  
  
  


He dreams of the sky that night.

  
  
  


The Trial of the Sword that awaits him reminds him of Eventide Island. He starts with nothing, not even the clothes on his back. Every motion he makes feels disconnected from his body, but every strike against him rings true.

There are two main differences.

First, despite the fact that he does not wield it, he feels the Sword’s presence as strongly as his wounds.

Second, he isn’t cut out for this trial. There’s only so much he can do surrounded by water as shock arrows rain down on him.

  
  
  


The Sword does not speak to him.

He knows it should. Zelda had asked him at least once if he’d heard its voice, but more than that, he feels in his bones that its silence is wrong. It’s unsettling.

He asks it one night over a fire, “Are you angry with me?” For forgetting it? For being deaf to it? For reclaiming it only after being torn away, time and time again?

This last question—borne of instinct, perhaps, rather than certainty of past reunions—makes him think of Zelda, but he can’t figure out why.

He frowns, and when the Sword does not answer, he sheathes it.

  
  
  


He comes across many who insist the Sword is fake, and their distrust offends him. The more it happens, the more he realizes he is not angry for his own sake or for being perceived as a liar to any degree.

He is angry on the Sword’s behalf.

  
  
  


“Are you angry with me?”

He asks it over and over—beside cooking pots, at inns, over the corpses of moblins and the remains of guardians.

“Are you angry with me?”

The Sword never answers.

He thinks of Zelda, praying fruitlessly to statues intent on remaining deaf to her.

  
  
  


His attempts at the trial fail to awaken the Sword—not its true power, like the Great Deku Tree states, but the Sword itself, the voice that Zelda said spoke to her.

Time and time again, he suffers through his body being broken open, being brought back to the Korok Forest on a wave of pain and failure, but the Sword still won’t tell him its name.

  
  
  


“I’m sorry,” he tells it.

  
  
  


“Could you tell me your name?” he pleads.

  
  
  


“I missed you,” he whispers.

  
  
  


He survives the beginning trials and receives no answer.

He survives the middle trials after several attempts. The Sword still doesn’t tell him its name, but he thinks it missed him too.

  
  
  


There are too many of them.

The final trial transports him to an enclosed field crawling with monsters. He registers the grass, the herd of bokoblin on horseback, and the single lynel who sees him as soon as he fully forms in the world—

And he runs.

He takes shelter in the trees, draws the eye of a guardian turret, runs toward its tower, and climbs with his lungs and parts of his armor on fire. Even on the other side of the tower, the lynel has impeccable aim with its flaming arrows, but it loses interest. The guardian atop the structure succumbs to an ancient arrow in the eye.

He lies low and scans the field. There are eight bokoblins and only the single lynel. Very little cover. Too much distance to cover with the few arrows he has left.

Desperation is what drives him.

There is fear and rage and sorrow in his actions—in every arrow he nocks, every jab of a spear, every swing of his axe. Even when the lynel smashes his side, he gets back up and runs with every emotion tucked deep in his chest. But it is the need to survive this, to win this, to _know_ that pushes him forward.

When the lynel finally falls and vanishes, silence washes over the massive room. This space, whatever and wherever it is, goes still. And when he’s finished basking in it, he doesn’t immediately step on the transporter.

He fears the Sword still won’t speak to him.

  
  
  


The climb fills him with dread.

Though his body is not fully here, his muscles and bones ache with the weight of these trials.

Seven monks present the Master Sword to him and dissipate.

He hesitates.

He takes it.

  
  
  


The Sword slides out of its pedestal, aglow, in the shrine and in the forest, and something ancient stirs in his chest. It is a greeting. Gratitude. Assurance that it isn’t angry and that he need not apologize.

Memories like a lifetime that belong to them both.

There is a name that leaves his lips, and then his mind, once he opens his eyes. But like the Sword’s newly persistent glow, the name stays safely stored in his heart.

_Fi._

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that in the cutscene that plays after you complete the Trial of the Sword, there's a deliberate shot of the sky and then a very brief snippet of the Skyward Sword theme? And that in the cutscene where Zelda puts the Master Sword in its pedestal, there's also a brief snippet of Fi's theme? Cause I basically cried when I realized these things and ran to write this. 😭
> 
> As far as I know, BotW is also the only Zelda game outside of Skyward Sword to even imply Fi's presence in the Master Sword so extra 😭😭
> 
> * * *
> 
> I do love hearing from my readers and chatting with you or answering your questions! If you want to leave a comment but don't know what to say, you can check [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirteenthHour/profile) for ideas! ♥
> 
> [tumblr](https://write-nonsense-by-the-ream.tumblr.com/post/620552237171785728/the-sword-has-nearly-killed-link-more-than-once) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/thirteenthhr/status/1270747308771233794)


End file.
